Fuga nelle Tenebre
by FireWithinMidnight
Summary: Raven's hazy memories hide his past even from him, but that may be the best solution for Elsword and his friends. Partially canon compliant, pre-game.


_This file has been sitting on my HDD for a year. It was just a sketch of the very first scene of the first chapter, but I decided to put a single scene per chapter. Updates are going to vary in length, I doubt they'll ever going to be pretty long._

_So! It was originally a short AU Raven-centric story; I basically took the game's then-introduction (I doubt it has changed in the last year though) of the character and ran with it. Raven also confessed somewhere through the game his memories were quite hazy after being under the King Nasod's influence (in the Italian server at least), thus I'm using that explanation to skirt canon a little. It's nothing earth-shattering as it will end up in canon territory anyway._

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own Elsword and the characters that appear in the game. I do not earn any money from this story. Unbeta'd._

* * *

With sick fascination, the young noble kept his eyes fastened on the dripping glass. The liquid –wine, he supposed- was a deep red and looked more like water than blood. Yet all he could think about was an equally blooded leg, laying lifelessly on the grass-

"Oh, Lord Bastion! I'm so sorry!" a girl screamed. It took a few more seconds and a good shacking for him to focus back on reality. Only then he realized his interlocutor, an incredibly young woman he really didn't want to see, was apologizing to no end for spilling his glass of wine and dirtying his robes.

"I'll repay everything, Lord Bastion! It's my fault, I-!"

"Lady Shannon," his sudden, soft voice finally stopped the young woman's frightened rant. He chuckled at her fearfully wide eyes, she was such an actress. "Or –shall I call you Lady Seris? We're betrothed, no one will think badly of us."

Lady Seris seemed abruptly to remember she had a fan. She immediately snapped it open to cover her face like a proper lady was supposed to. "It would be an honour, Lord Bastion," she slowly chanted, lowering her voice to something akin to a seductive whisper. "Shall I call you Lord Henry, then? Or will you reserve me the right to call you Lord Raven?"

Lord Henry groaned. His blush deepened at Lady Seris's amused chuckle. Another servant arrived slowly with a tray of glasses full of wine, called by another noble. Lord Henry didn't know who. With a quick, muttered thank, Lord Henry took one of the glasses.

"Lady Seris," he twisted the glass in his hand, watching carefully that wine didn't spill over the edges. It was infinitely more interesting than the obsessive buzz around them. "We had agreed we wouldn't bring the Crow Mercenary Guard's _chants _in formal occasions."

Truth be told, he simply hated the nickname his fellow mercenaries had given him. He had forgotten how it was born, except that it had to do with a bunch of drunk soldiers the "Crow" of the guard's name. It stuck and there was always someone who refused to not call Lord Henry "Raven".

"But if fits you _perfectly_," Lady Seris's low growl was back, much to Lord Henry's visible annoyance. "Specially your hair. I'm sure Henry is actually a nickname –chosen so the other _nobles _wouldn't be jealous of you having a unique name."

Lord Henry didn't think "Raven" was actually _so _unique, but he opted for shaking his head. Rightly so, as one of those _nobles _Lady Seris just talked about was clearly leaning in their direction in the corner of his eye. A couple narrowly missed Lady Seris's elbow as they passed next her, dancing. Predatory hyenas, the lot of them.

"Oh!" of course, Lady Shannon had noticed the immediate tightness in Lord Henry's stance. There were too many eyes boring holes at them. "I lost myself in delighted chatter and forgot the insult bestowed upon your person! Come with me, Lord Henry, I shall make sure to repay the damage I gave you."

It was easier said than done: the ballroom was packed with more and more nobles. The most important personalities of the reign of Velder and a good number of the minor families had showed up. Many of them swirled across the room dancing, occasionally switching partner as they happened to stumble on another dancing couple.

The buzz got stronger, strong enough Lord Henry couldn't discern between an invitation and cruel gossip. The mass of bodies blocked out anything that wasn't the marble floor, the chandeliers and the neutral curtains hanging from the ceiling. If he focused on the shadows projected all over the place he was going to go mad. He shifted to hide the stained fabric on his person.

Lord Henry looked one last time at his father: Lord Vichand Bastion was affably chatting with the late Lord Leolannan Carter on the other side of the ballroom. His father was no longer a mature man, yet Lord Carter made him look quite young: the wrinkles on his face reminded Lord Henry of a cobweb, the man's rigid composure had devolved into a painfully curved back. What was left of his white hair was tied up in a low ponytail, which only served to show better the wretchedness of old age.

At least, the man didn't have to worry about his inheritance: he still had a son, Lord Wally Carter –who was absent as usual. He was already ruling over a northern region of Rurensia and yet he wasn't willing to develop any political and social contact.

The air became heavier. Air, he needed air. Lord Henry hadn't made it to the balcony before his father turned around at his direction. Given the distance and a woman who just happened to bump against his side, there was no chance he had seen the stain on his good robes. Yet, he frowned noticeably at his third son.

Lord Carter leaned in more to whisper something at Lord Bastion; the young noble paled at the amused sneer on the decrepit man's face. Lord Henry's heart started beating faster against his ribcage as his father's expression darkened further. But it couldn't be, they couldn't-

_Empty eyes stared at the full moon high in the night. The breeze made him shiver every now and then as he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbow. The heavy coat also laid forgotten on the stony pavement. But suffering freezing weather was better than having blood splattered on such precious clothing. _

_The old tattered shirt he was still wearing had been better suited for being soaked in the vital liquid._

_His head jerked up when someone shouted in the distance. They couldn't find him there! Not next to him, now lifeless due to all the blood which had pooled under him. He was quick to collect his coat and was already on the other side of the garden –when a shimmer of light caught his eyes. _

_He cursed under his breath and threw the robes away –some leaves were better to clean than blood. Never mind that, he had left his dagger in the boy's thigh! His dagger, previous heirloom of the Bastion family. It would take no time to recognize where it came from, and then his Lord Father would spill who was currently holding the blade…_

_**They**__ were shouting nearer –no, even nearer than before. Nearer than they were a second before! His heart must have stopped there, no, could they see his forehead –glistening from all the sweat? They'd see the fresh body, his bloody shirt and the Bastion dagger, and he'd be given to the hangman without anyone being the wiser._

_He pulled in vain on the dagger's hilt over and over. He had __**no time**__! But it didn't bulge –it didn't bulge. __**They **__were just behind the corner, and they'd see him, they'd see him and everything would end. He had to hurry, the dagger finally slid out without spraying more blood around. The boy's heart had stopped and nothing else was pumping the vital liquid in his veins anymore._

_A twig snapped under soldiers' armoured feet-_

He was shoved quietly outside the room. The unaltered contact with clearer air dissipated any lasting effect headache. He merely gasped when wind messed up with his impeccable hair and clothing. Lady Seris chuckled with crystalline voice. "I'm sorry," she said, albeit the light in her eyes clearly stated the contrary. "I've tried calling you, but you wouldn't answer."

Lord Henry slowly blinked at her, then raised his glass still full of wine. No one was around to see them, people preferred the heat and the company inside the ballroom.

In a second, Lady Seris shrieked: wine was now dirtying her dress too. Hadn't it been for the deep neckline, she would be sporting an exact copy of the stain on Lord Henry's good robes. She stomped on her fan, unwillingly cracking it. Lord Henry wasn't sure when she had throw it on the floor. "How could you!" she bellowed. "Betrothed or not, do you have _any _idea what kind of behaviour is that?"

"You did the same to me." The young noble replied humourlessly. He then pompously indicated the blot on his person. On his only good robes for such formal parties.

"It was an accident!" Lady Seris yelled back. No, she wasn't that beautiful anymore, her fury twisted her face and made her long, blond hair frizzle in every direction. "Unlike what _you_ just did! You did it _on purpose!_"

He knew very well she was going to screech and complain about it for the whole week. Her role in his Crow Mercenary Guard just came in handy in giving her more time to annoy him. But it didn't matter. The dark glee bubbling in his soul for this petty revenge was more than worth this simple woman's rage.

It was moments like this that got him believing his marriage contract wasn't so bad. They were so spare, he wanted to savour them as much as possible.

"Look at it in this perspective," Lord Henry nearly purred, looking over the balcony and aiming at the fountain below him with the empty glass. "Now you don't have a reason to pay for my clothing."

"Oh, of course I won't!" there, all the resentment in her voice was gone. It had nothing to do with what Lord Henry had told her, of course. "Because you won't make sure no one will believe _your _word, which will be along of how I purposefully threw wine on your robes, brought you away from others' eyes and then soiled my own dress so I wouldn't have to pay for yours."

Lord Henry's lips curved up. "Ah, Lady Seris! You hurt me with these cruel words!" he exclaimed with mirth.

"I hurt you with my cruel words…" There was just an uncomfortable chill in the tone she used to speak. "Or with the crude truth?"

Lord Henry threw the glass against the fountain, where it shattered. Small pointy shards dispersed in the water. It was ancient custom to have one symbolic drink with the liquid straight from the fountain, it was a shame neither he nor Lady Seris were going to stay to witness anyone who had the misfortune to swallow the glass.

"Neither of course." Lord Henry stated, captivated by the shimmering water under the moon's light. "You can't be the head of a group of mercenaries if you're so easily hurt by words or the truth."

Inside, the music was reaching its highest point. Lord Henry could only see people dancing through the windows. With a last, contemptuous glance at the ballroom and a fuming Lady Seris, Lord Henry stalked off.

* * *

_Whoever played Raven for at least five minutes already knows what happens to all the people here. They're not actually really bad as my Raven sees them, but he's not the nicest person to have around either._

_He'll get there, but not here and now._

_Also, the name Bastion has nothing to do with the game itself. I didn't even know of its existence when I chose it._


End file.
